


Little One

by musamortem



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 21:28:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10671129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musamortem/pseuds/musamortem





	Little One

Your old coworkers were unanimous in their diagnosis, filling your soul with dread and helplessness. Your silent pleads to the Valar remained unanswered. Your one wish was denied. You hoped that this was all a nightmare, but you had never fallen asleep. Their words rang clear: you could not bear children. You believed it was your role among other things to carry life to fruition - a role you wholeheartedly accepted and prepared for with open arms, but you remained barren, an embodiment of lifeless and absent potential. On any other day, you would shun such thoughts from your mind, convincing yourself of a brighter perspective.

However, as you stood in the balcony of your private quarters overlooking the glittering gem that was Erebor, the urge to cry became overwhelming. Thoughts of your failure and the whispers of disappointment roared in your ears and your lips trembled as you struggled to compose yourself. Now was not the time to let go.

Let go.

Tears fell like the beginnings of the spring rains ever so gently with its pitter-patter rhythm, but when your hand found its way to your stomach, it poured, and you roared with the same ferocity as the thunder that followed. You cradled yourself, hungry for an escape from this nightmare or a sense of relief from the pain that left you paralyzed on the balcony. Resting your back against the cold stone walls, you looked to the stars for answers and explanations.

Was this punishment for your wrongdoings? Could there have been something to prevent this incontinence? If not a punishment for you, was it directed to your husband? You shook your head. Thorin had done so much to deserve every bit of happiness and he had sacrificed more to ensure its unending stability. He deserved to smile and laugh without care; to dance with unbridled frivolity; to sing with friends that had died too early. He deserved a family to love and be loved by unconditionally.

But you could not give him that and the realization was the nightmare itself.

“Azyungal?” a voice called softly from the doorway. Its low baritone sent you sweet memories of nights spent listening to that voice until sleep wrapped you in its embrace. “Come away from there. You’ll catch a cold especially now that we have a little one on the way.”

The bitter pang of sorrow washed over you and you whimpered, giving away the tears that dampened your cheeks. Thorin cupped your cheeks in his large hands, bringing your face up to his. The moonlight bounced on the drops like a stream of liquid light, but his eyes focused only on your bloodshot ones. His brow furrowed and his lips tightened to a straight line, one you often saw him wear during meetings of dire importance.

“What has caused these tears, my Queen? What has happened?”

You grasped his wrists for support, pressing your thumbs into the palms of his calloused hands, as you struggled to take in a steady breath.

“There is no little one,” you managed to whisper. “Not anymore.”

His piercing blue eyes made a storm of emotions. You could see glimpses of fear churn with mourning, and a bit of frustration and helplessness as his arms wrapped about your shoulders and waist. Relishing in the warmth of his body and the wave of relief in announcing the news, you wrapped your arms around his broad back, clawing at his tunic in anger and disappointment.

Thorin pressed a kiss to the top of your head and whispered, “Oh azyungal…When did you know?”

You did not move from your position, face pressed to his chest. “This afternoon. I - I…Thorin, I couldn’t feel him pass on. I went throughout my morning believing he was still there within me - our son…our-”

“Shh,” he hummed. “He was not meant for this world. Not yet.”

“You don’t understand,” you argued. “Oin and the other healers agreed that I cannot bear children. I cannot do the one thing nature intended me to do. If I can bear no children, what use am I?”

He held you closer, trying desperately to find a way to soothe your troubled mind and broken soul. “You are a Queen, (Y/N). You are a beacon of hope in this trying time. Perhaps we are not meant to have children - now or ever, but of one thing I am sure: with or without children, I would have you by my side. Your love pulled me from the dragon sickness and gave me the courage I sought to end the war. Allow me to love you as you love me - for all my faults and wrongs, the right, and the unpredictable.”

Your lips trembled with a fresh wave of tears, but these tears burned as they traversed down your cheeks. They burned with renewed hope; the same hope that ignited the furnaces of Erebor and roared the mighty kingdom back to life. Like the Lonely Mountain, you would take time to heal: to regain your bearings as the queen of the greatest dwarven kingdom in Middle Earth, to heal the wounds of your shattered and war torn soul, and to accept your past with the promise of a better future. It would not be easy and it could not be done alone, but with your husband at your side, at the very least, you were prepared for the worst.


End file.
